Oh, and remind me to never audition for AI again.
This may be a roundabout way of explaining this whole adventure, but I’m writing all this for you to realize the perfect storm that accumulated to Monday night's audition. A lot went down, so stick it out with me!
Alright so I’ll be honest, I’m semi-participating in Ramadan. It all started when one of the agents I intern for told me about his practice on Friday. I’m such a self-centered Christian that I’d completely missed that Ramadan was even going on.
When I was in Kazakhstan we learned about the Muslim faith, and Ramadan was one of the traditions I balked at.
A whole month? Without food during the day?? What are you supposed to do instead?!
Pray, dummy.
Oh right.
This also reminded me of a conversation I had Imam at a mosque while I was there
“So what do you pray for?”
“I’m sorry I don’t understand what you mean”
His English was great, but he wasn’t getting what I asked. One of our guides explained in Russian and then the Imam’s face lit up when he looked at me.
“We do not pray for anything. We do not believe that God takes requests, like your Santa Claus. We pray to be better servants. We give thanks for our lives. We seek to be more peaceful, and healthier men”
Immediately I realized my semantic mistake. But what he said made sense. I know as Christians we all say things like “God is Santa, he doesn’t have a wish list” but we still pray to him don’t we? We say things like “Please oh please God let me pass this test!” In this way we make God our good luck charm and wait to see if He decides to follow through.
I’ve prayed a lot of “forgive me” prayers after that day.
In the Muslim faith, from what I glean, there is a works based theology. Good works makes you a bit more holy. They’re prayers are like hymns or the doxology are to a Christian. They’re traditional, and often repeated.
I’m not one for works based theology, but I do see the draw. Especially when I’m a fairly guilty minded person because I haven’t been to church in about…three months? Maybe longer? Eek I don’t even know!
Continuing my religious tangent: I came into my internship last Friday to find half the office was fasting. I knew that our theatrical agent was Muslim, and that our commercial agent was Christian. (It came up at some point in conversation) The Christian commercial agent came in complaining about being hungry and how she was low on energy.
“Eat a sandwich” one of my favorite solutions to a problem.
“I can’t I’m fasting with Karim today”
I looked at Karim who confirmed and began to explain, “This month is Ramadan. In my faith we call it the month of blessings because we believe that for this month God locks up the devil.”
The carrot in my mouth slowly started slipping out
“We wake up before the sun rises, eat a little, and offer up prayers. We don’t eat food, or drink water from sunrise till sunset every day.”
“What about gum?” I asked.
“No gum, no nothing. We use it as a time to ask God for specific blessings, and show our commitment by abstaining from food or other wants.”
It explained why they were listening to “The Wave” as opposed to their typical rap station. Ramadan was more of a refocusing time for Muslims, than a present giving and getting holiday we celebrate as Christians. I suppose our materialistic society has made Christianity more appealing in this way. He explained that it was a way to purify mind as well as spirit from evil thoughts or intentions throughout the day.
“And you see blessing everywhere. Just last night I got a booking for one of our clients who didn’t even audition! Blessings! Blessings everywhere.”
It was at that point that I put down my bag of carrots and regretted the two egg mushroom and red bell pepper omelet I made and ate that morning. For the rest of the day I prayed forgiveness and sent prayers of solidarity. Throughout the day three more clients booked gigs without having auditions. A first, at least since I started four or five months ago.
Each time they did Karim’s face would light up, he’d clap, and say “I told you! Blessings! Blessings!”
Each time this happened I’d be renewed with will to participate. From 11AM until 6PM I neither ate nor drank anything. The eating wasn’t so bad but going without water was rough. Everyone had been prepared for the day, they had eaten big meals before sunrise and brought along little kits to brush their teeth and “scope” their mouth. I on the other hand had some rank breath and a dry tongue by the time I left.
Sunset wasn’t going to happen till around 7:50 Cali time and I was mentally unprepared for the lack of food or beverage. Over all I was doing fine, but my fat soul was pretty grumpy by the turn of events. Since I had already made plans to have dinner before a show around 6 I prayed again that God would forgive me for flippantly breaking my solidarity. All I had that night was a turkey burger and a few fries with water, but boy was I full! I suppose my stomach shrank because of the fast.
The rest of the night I couldn’t help but think of how a little amount of food could be so filling for so long. I went to a friend’s house later that night where there was some drinking and games. I quickly became bored and kept thinking,
This is what we Americans do for fun. We get bored, and drink.
I ended up being a pretty big buzz kill, and decided I better just head out.
That Saturday I went the whole day without eating or drinking water. Praying at a few intervals. I was surprised by how easy it was. It kept me focus on the things I had to do for the day, and every time I felt shaky I tried to refocus my thoughts on anything but a giant Costco pizza. I had an audition around 7 that night and knew that by the time I was done I could make a meal. I was determined to follow through.
The audition was not too out of the ordinary. I mean the producer did have her dog on a pillow next to her and her face was wrapped, assumingly, after a facial operation. But in the end the producer called me “A doll!” and said that they’d love to have me. I quickly adopted Karim's mantra and got up saying “Blessings!” as I shook the producer's hand.
When I got home I ate nearly all of my groceries, and a piece of my roommates’ homemade brownies and a slice of their left over Costco pizza.
I told you my soul was fat, right?
When Sunday rolled around I figured it’d be best to maintain my Christianity and ate a healthy breakfast before I went off to church. Yeah, I went to church. Some people even remembered seeing me once upon a time; even though they couldn't remember my name I still took it as a good sign.
Sunday’s are almost impossible to fast on because I usually visit my sister, and there’s no way you can fast when you’re at her place.
We had roasted veggies (some that were homegrown) and cheese stuffed squash blossoms and veggie hot dogs. Afterwards we went out and ate some delightful handmade ice cream. Mine was Guinness flavored.
I’m telling you, there’s no way you can fast when my sister is cookin
Now it’s Monday, and I decided to adhere to Ramadan once again. In trying to focus on how to be a better person I decide to get back into exercising again. I borrow my roommates five pound weights and go for a jog around the neighborhood. It’s not much, but sans a good breakfast and water it took its toll on me.
I go the whole day without drinking a drop of water, but as soon as I get to the reception desk my tongue is like sandpaper. And after that work out I’m really dehydrated. I figure answering a phone with a cough is not the most professional action, especially when it’s a busy Monday and the phones are ringing off the hook. I pray God forgives me that I have a few sips of water. In turn I promised to not be so attached to my social media sites today, and abstain from Facebook and Twitter. It’s not really a coherent trade, and sort of inane when I think about it now, but it made sense at the time.
I stayed strong the whole day and those few sips of water made the world of difference.
It was now 5 o’clock and I had another audition to get to. This one was just a student film, a scene from Thelma and Louise, but it was an audition nonetheless. I had been to the Art Institute once before and remembered I had to pay for parking. Seeing as I was driving all the way to Santa Monica there was no way I was going to pay for parking this time. Any way I can save, I’ll do it.
I had to park about three blocks away in a two hour parking space, but I knew the walk would be worth it. Besides, its exercise right?
My appointment was at 6:30 but I had gotten there at 5:45, so I had some time to hobble to the audition because my legs were still sore from my morning run. I got a little lost among the buildings and found myself facing a big sign that said AcTivision.
If you’re a nerd you may recognize the company as one of the top gaming production companies that put out one of my favorites, GoldenEye Wii. It was pretty great, and it took everything in me not to sneak in.
I finally found the AI building, which was ironically paired with a culinary institute that cruelly wafted their fresh baked goodies into my nose. It was now 5:55 and sunset wasn't until at least 7:50.
No problem
I signed in, and made my way upstairs. As soon as I hit my intended floor I was thrown back by a barrage of sounds. I hoped beyond hope that these sounds weren’t coming from where I would soon be auditioning, but alas my luck is always against me in these stories.
I turned the corner to see a hallway literally wall to wall with people, and also children. Children ranging from the age 3 months to 6 years. The place was crawling with them.
Don’t get me wrong I love kids, but they have their place when it comes to auditions. Kids at auditions aren’t kids, they’re brats. Who are followed by their either overprotective stage moms/dads or their money grubbing trolls that might be related to them.
I squeeze my way past to see the sign in sheet is riddled with names. I scrawl mine next to the number 17, thinking That’s not too bad until I see the second sheet numbered 1-30 that is full of names and only a third are crossed off. My heart sinks, my parking is only for two hours, how can they have so many people? And, wait. Why are there kids here? There’s no kids in Thelma and Louise.
I began to look around for sides to see what was going on, when another actress came up behind me to sign in.
“Are there any sides?”
“No,” I tell her, “I was just looking for those. I’m sure they’ll bring some out.”
“Which one are you here for” One of the other auditioning actresses smooshed up against the wall ask with a weary look of having waited too long.
“Thelma and Louise, I think. Is there another audition?”
“Cheerios, they don’t have sides. But they’re auditioning them in the same room.”
A double audition?? What are they thinking!?
Students. Rookie mistake.
Not even students make that mistake
I look in the window of other classes, I have no choice as I’m slammed by a new wave of auditioners. Inside the other rooms I see a bunch of twenty somethings sitting in chairs nodding along to some instruction. Had it not been for the duct tapped filing box fashioned into a podium, I never would have been able to determine who the “professor” was. Everyone looked roughly the same age, and if this was indeed the professor he had neck tattoos, gage piercings, and a shirt that said “The Laughing Dead”
I laughed thinking about Dr. Tracie, and old prof, showing up in this get up.
I’ve had a privileged education
I sat against the wall just as the girl who signed in after me took up a strip of carpet next to me. She became one of those annoying types at auditions. The ones that gloat about whatever they can and complain as much as possible. Disturber of the peace, really.
“I was on set the other day for a webseries I wrote, produced, and am starring in…” Other actors were kind enough to lend her an ear as I tried to politely ignore her. When people talk this much I just imagine them like a muppet who faces the sky and of their head hangs back with a prolonged "BLAHHHHH"
This is what chatty people look like in my mind, only not as fun and lovable as a muppet.
It was approaching 6:30, the time of my actual appointment, when Chatty Mcgee over here started demanding she see some sides. I couldn’t ignore her now because I was getting a little curious myself.
I asked someone nearby if I could take a look at their sides, and she kindly handed them over.
“I just need them back because I think I’m going in soon”
Sure you are I thought.
"Oh totally," I said.
I’d been here a half hour and barely seen anyone go in or out. I highly doubted she was going anywhere soon.
I looked at the sides and recognized the scene.
“This is the one right after they shoot the guy right?” I ask
“I’m not sure, it’s been a while since I’ve seen it” she replies.
“This was a movie already?” Chatty pipes in
Welcome to the conversation tiger.
“Are there accents?” someone asks.
A phony cockney voice pipes up “Oh I wooldn’ mind if they haid ous do vat!”
Chatty, you should stop while you’re ahead
“Actually,” I say out loud, “It’s more country.” My dehydrated brain couldn’t think of the word ‘Southern’ but they got the gist of what I meant.
Chatty, switched gears on us and provided her best southern bell. This is why actors should never be placed in a waiting room with other actors for an extended period of time.
“Well, I do declare I think I can manage a certain type of countray”
You know these Thelma and Louise drive off a cliff right? You can practice that if you want
Chatty then starts reading, out loud, over my shoulder. Exasperated I just hand her the sides and let her mutter to herself. At least she’s not talking to the rest of us.
Just then the monitor comes out and calls for a “Oh, I’m not going to say this right…Mar-gar-eet?”
Chatty perks up, “Margarita?”
Amen sister, I could go for one of those right now too.
The monitor looks down at the list, “Uh, no. Mar-gar- ett?”
The girl who gave me the sides sat up, “I’ll need those back, thanks.” Chatty reluctantly hands over the sides and slumps against the wall. Margaret goes in and Chatty starts back up again.
“It’s interesting isn’t it?”
I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care.
She lets the question hang there, and decides to answer it despite our lack of interest.
“That our names are so similar! I thought she was calling me in to audition.”
Slowly it dawns on me. The lack of food has taken its toll on my mental process and I didn’t realize what I should have off the bat. My eye scans down to her folder where her headshots lie for the world to ask her who did them. In bold letters right under her beaming face is the name Margarita.
NO!
I look up at her, and back at the headshot. It’s the same girl.
Your parents named you Margarita?!? Is that the drink they had when you were conceived?! Or when you were born!?
The thought entertained me for the next half hour as we watched child and adult alike go in and out of the room. It seemed like eternity when it hit 7 o’clock, and I was getting worried about my parking. The tension in the packed hallway started to climb as even more people came to audition. The minutes ticked by as the slow bottle necking of people passed through. My hunger was starting to nag me, and I would have done anything for a sip of water. I could feel my eyes sinking into deep cavities as my body shriveled. I was weak, and I'd never be able to make it into the room. My legs had atrophied from sitting so long without food. I was going to die here.
When Chatty Margarita suddenly had had enough.
Okay maybe my body wasn’t wrecked as I just painted, but I was tired and frustrated, and thirsty as hell. But, Chatty was the first to break. When the monitor came out to apologize for the wait, Chatty swooped in.
“I really have to go soon, I was wondering if I could just skootch up in the list?”
Oh hellll no. You came right after me! And so help me if I get a ticket from this stupid audition.
I glanced up at a clock I could see through a classroom window, it was now 7:30.
The monitor said they’d do the best they could.
No kick her out!
All of the kids started getting restless at the same time, and seemed to get louder and rowdier. One girl took great joy in puncturing the relative silence with a loud round of Angry Birds. I’m a big fan of flinging birds at those unruly pigs, but let’s be honest, that music is beyond repetitive after three minutes and don’t get me started on the bird screams.
Another little tyke took to hitting her little brother as he tried to choke her, while a baby was walked between all the adults crying for her binki. Yet another walked between everyone taking pictures with her mom’s phone, when mommy received a call she hung up on them and said, “It’s okay I got the camera back!” The choking brother now turned on his mother because her iPad was no longer working for him, “It’s not working any moreeeee!” He hit the iPad and then his mother. No reprimands were issued.
I was nearing my wits end. When the monitor made yet another entrance, and apology.
“Again, I’m sorry for the wait we didn’t realize so many people would show up. Next on the list is Hailey”
YES! Hailey was number 15 on my list, and that meant I was only two screaming children away from getting in and driving down the 405 home! Huzzah!
“Excuse me,”
Chatty don’t you ruin this for me!
“I was wondering if I could just sneak in because I really have to go!”
Don’t be stupid student. Don’t you dare put her before me!
“I’m sorry we can’t.” YES! BOO YAH CHATTY! “We have to at least get all the kids in first because they need to go soon.”
Record scratch.
I do but beg your pardon?
“Alright well just give them my headshot, because I really have somewhere to go"
As opposed to the rest of us who have nowhere in life to go?
She hands her headshot to the monitor who slips back in before I can protest.
I look up at the clock again, 7:55. I might get a ticket, or worse, towed. My heart is pounding and I’m exhausted. Three sets of kids go in the room before I get the chance to stop the monitor.
I consider pulling a Chatty Margarita and forgetting the whole thing. But I’ve waited 2 hours, and having to drive all the way back home would make me reel with regret. I stick it out and now it’s 8:10 when I finally get the monitors attention.
"Hey, I'm kind of confused because I thought I was next on the list"
A flash of annoyance goes across his face. Woah, I get it but your not respecting my time.
He looks down and sees that I was in fact next until they decided to take all the kids at once.
Just my luck
"I totally get it, but I'm in a weird parking situation and I really don't want to get towed."
Maybe it was the desperation of thirst hunger and boredom that acclimated in my voice, or just the sheer fear of paying hundreds of dollars to get my car back, either way it took. The monitor had pity on me and said he'd speed things up to get me out.
After two more totes are pimped out they finally bring me in.
They apologized, yet again.
Dude I get it. Be professional already and pretend you meant it to be this way.
I kept the conversation light and joked with them. The read through went well, a few minor errors, but nothing they seem to notice. They look down at my headshot and say “Oh wow, you have a lot of experience.”
Oh, honey. Read me five things off of there that you’ve actually heard of. Come now, school plays and some comedy shows does not a credit make.
“Oh that’s all made up.”
For a split second they take me seriously.
“I’m joking,” I assure them. They ease up, we thank each other, shake hands, and then I bolt out the door.
Please God please God please God, don’t let me get towed
I run as fast as I can, but I’m slower than normal as it’s been more than 24 hours since I’ve eaten anything, and those five sips of water aren’t doing me much good either. By the time I reached my car, panting and heaving, I realize the sign above it says “2 hours: Until 6PM M-F”
So I was in the clear this entire time?
Yep
Son OF A-
I drove home thanking God anyway for having a good audition and still not getting towed. The 405 was a pain, as always, but at least I didn’t have to listen to anyone talking their head off and trying to impress everyone with their awful accents.
When I finally got home neither of my roommates were there, unfortunately that meant I had no one to bitch to. Instead I headed straight for the kitchen and made myself a big meal complete with a giant cup of water that I kept draining.
I had refilled my glass about five times before my roommates finally came to the door.
"Did you see your lovely picture?
"I'm sorry, what?" I say through half a mouthful of brie/cheddar/bean/mushroom/bell pepper quesadilla with the side of green beans and irish car bomb cupcake.
"Have you seen your Facebook page?"
I remembered my compromise of social media for a few sips of water.
"No I haven't been on Facebook or Twitter all day"
Apparently I had recently signed into my Facebook on my roommates computer.... and not signed out. In doing so it lay the ground work for my roommates to post a picture of five very obese men with the caption: "I love men that look like this! mmm mmm good :D"A stream of comments followed underneath it.
It was pretty hysterical. A nice way for everything to circle back in the end.
Keep laughing dear friends
~The Goof
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funny. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Scam Me Once, Shame on You..
...Scam me twice... Shame a shammer scam... shame
I started writing this over a year ago when I still worked at Starbucks, but the story is ripe enough to remember. Enjoy!
* * * * * *
Hey again from the wastelands of Hollywood!
I finished up my "Industry Showcase" in which a grand total of three industry people showed over the course of five weeks. I wasn't all that disappointed because let's face it, the show was nothing to brag about. I could pander back and forth in it's quaint qualities, like how one of my scene partners prime choice of displaying her goodies to entice an agent, or how the other scene partner who chose to give me directing notes even though he couldn't act his way out of a box, but that's all in the past.
Recently I was called by an agent to come in for a meeting. Excited I wondered if they had seen the showcase, but as it shockingly turns out the agency had heard nothing about the showcase. Actually, it was because I had responded to a Backstage West ad requesting submissions for new talent.
When I got the call I was freaking stoked! I called the number immediately and spoke to a woman.
"Would you be able to come in next Tuesday in the afternoon?"
"Absolutely. What would you like me to prepare?"
"Just a dramatic monologue would be fine."
I was a little bummed by this. I can do dramatic just fine, but making people laugh is really a strong suite.
Suddenly I hear her say "Actually you know what? Your picture looks like you could do comedy as well, why don't you just prepare one of each."
"Great! I'll see you then"
She sent me the directions and I was off!
I made a quick call to a friend for advice. She said (and wisely so) "Know who you want to model your career after.'
Easy, Kristen Wiig or Judy Greer.
'And ask what casting directors they work with. You'll know for sure if they're legit, if they know which casting directors they work closely with."
I prepared two monologues, as they requested, and waited till the minutes at work slowly crept by. I pictured their office to be small efficient hive buzzing with activity, the front area like a dentists office, and a back room that you'd have to enter through a locked door when they called your name.
I'd go to the door, assisted by the secretary, who'd have me "go right in, they're expecting you." I'd sit down in one of their cushy chairs and explain to them why I was so passionate about acting, which actresses I looked up to, the career path I had planned, and the goals I wanted to accomplish during the year.
Perhaps they'd flash me their client list, showing off, but not too much. They'd woo me, I'd sit back and consider. Slowly they'd push a contract across their chesnut desk, to which I'd say "Let me have my lawyer look this over before I make any solid commitments." I'd joke, they'd laugh, we'd shake hands, and I'd walk out with a new found confidence to embolden my walk out to the car.
It was a lovely dream. It really was.
Finally the time came for me to blow out of work and quickly wash off the sugar plastered over my forearms from the mornings rush.
Satisifed with my new smell of Dove soap and eucalyptus mint shampoo, I quickly dressed and slapped on some make up. I was beside myself with anxiety. I breathed deep, practiced my monologues, then headed out the door.
As I got into the car I began to think, "No matter what, I'll still keep doing this. There's nothing that can stop me even if this doesn't work out today." I flung a few fumbled words up in prayer then started to feel really confident, this was going to happen. Slowly I started to allow myself my little day dreams.
Maybe within the month I could quit the morning job (yeah not day job... morning) I could get some sleep, be on set, write new material for my stand up (stuff that had nothing to do with working at Starbucks). I could start plannig for "the next step." I'd have enough money saved to start studying with new acting teachers. I'd then have to decide whether or not I'd go to graduate school sooner than later, and what course I'd like to persue. Maybe I could find the fencing class I always wanted to take. I could put aside some more money to support things like Habitat For Humanity, or organizations my friends have started
All in all I could finally start my career.
Wait. Let's slow down. We still gotta get through the meeting first.
But still... It would be nice.
Yeah, it would. But you gotta be realistic.
Hrumphh.
As I drove I calmed my nerves by thinking of other things. Recent engagements, up coming family trips, anything really. It wasn't long before I was through the traffic and turning down the streets toward the office. A route that took me past a few memory lane locations. A route, that has been riddled with scams...
With each turn I became a little more suspicious. I swear every time I'm in Sherman Oaks I run into a scam. I've made it past a lot of them but some still burn from following through. It's amazing how easily people can sweet talk things over. Get you to pay for your friends tickets in advanced to sell to people. Make the cost part of the "curriculum" until you realize no one wants to go see these little "shows" this sham of school is putting on. If you know what I'm talking about, I didn't say anything, if you don't... there are plenty of scams running under the same standards.
The area was changing from office buildings, to high end apartments.
Initially I gave pause, but as usual, I ignored it.
I want so bad for this to be real
(News flash, your wanting it real bad changes nothing)
When my headshots were taken I met the photographer in her apartment building. So this wasn't a clear sign of anything fishy. Not yet.
Had the agent been a man, there was no way I would have kept driving. But the woman I spoke to was, well a woman, and seemed nice enough.
My car parks in front of this fairly nice apartment building, and I'm in my cluttered car trying to scramble all of my material together.
Whatever this turns out to be, I thought to myself, I will remain professional.
As soon as I step out of the car, in the gorgeous dress my roommates had bought me, I step on the hem. Unintentionally it slips a little, showing more of my chest than I care to have in public. I look around, and for the first time am thankful for the fact that it's a semi-secluded residential area. Pulling up the dress I wonder if the agent is peering out some window watching this whole haphazard fiasco unfold before I even get to the gate.
Breathe you goof!
I settle myself and walk towards the gate with confidence. Once I finally locate the name on the key pad, trying my darndest to not beat myself up for taking so long to find the correct name, I punch it and wait. The same woman answers and rings for the door to open.
Once inside, I realize she never gave me directions on how to get to her door...
I scramble.
Luckily I had made a note during the intial call for what the room number was. Thanking my dad in the back of my mind for constantly telling me to write things down, I made my way through the maze of doors.
It took a while to realize that her apartment was most likely on the second floor, a fact that would have been nice to tell me at first, seeing as the number gave no indication it was on another floor. But I guess that should have gone along with the information of "oh and this isn't an actual office"
The elevator climbed slowly up the one floor, because of course there were no stairs in sight, as I began to day dream again about what this apartment looked like. All the others I'd been to were plain on the outside and looked like an office on the inside. Donned with chairs, a small side table adorned with business cards, a blinking phone in the corner that indicated mutiple calls coming through and being answered by another phone in a different part of the house. Perhaps a tidy yet frazzled secretary would stop by, on the way to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
When I arrived to reality, there was a scarecrow beconing me towards the door while large mat sat beneath my feet printed with the enormous letters WELCOME.
I knocked.
Nothing.
Is this even the right address?
I knocked again looking around.
I knocked a third time when I finally heard movement. I stood at attention looking as professional and non-hunchy as I could manage.
I AM confidence.
A muffled, "Hey come on in!"came from behind the door.
Okay... it's cool. Just push the door open.
This is weird.
She just can't get the door yet, no biggie.
Who can't walk two feet to answer a door?
Would you just walk through!?
I walk in to see a very tidy apartment. Freshly vacuumed carpets, a larger than life TV, a ceiling high book shelf filled with DVDs. The woman/agent in question crossed the limited vision I had from the doorway. She seemed to redirect her path towards me as if shaking my hand were a last minute thought.
"Hello, come in"
No problem...Stepford wife?
As I walked in she ushered me to sit on the couch across from her and as I did so, she stared. Very patiently. But awkwardly as well...
"Oh! Here's my headshot and resume."
"Yes of course, this is a nice shot."
"Thank you"
"Okay are you ready?"
"Ready?"
Just then I started hearing yapping... from the kitchen.
Sure.
"Oh I'm so sorry that's my dog. She gets excited when new people come in"
The agent woman moved towards the kitchen.
"Katie!"
I turned in her direction
"KATIE!!"
"Uh... yes?" I asked timidly
"Oh sorry, not you."
She started scolding the tiny dog that was sanctioned behind her kitchen counter. Apparently this little overactive pup and I share the same name.
Do you change the name for all your perspective clients?
I was beginning to beg God why I could never walk into a normal situation in my life when the agent-lady pushed the dog out of the kitchen where it bounded right up to me. It yapped and started jumping repeatedly up and down on my leg. This only added to my suspicion that the dog was actually named Katie.
You're a very confused girl aren't you? Get off my leg!
Agent-lady finally coaxed her outside onto a 2x5 balcony. Sliding the glass door shut, Katie the dog jumped up and down yapping even louder.
"Don't worry about her" agent-lady explained, as she locked the glass door "she usually stops once she's outside"
She started settling in.
Yap. BANG! Yap BANG!
"KATIE STOP!!" She got up and flipped the vertical shutters closed, then sat back down on the couch.
Uncomfortable I adjusted my dress and made sure my girls were still under wraps. Didn't want any more surprise guest appearances.
"So," I said as she looked over my resume quietly, "I prepared the two monologues you asked for."
"Oh."
Oh?! Oh, What?
"Remember you called me and asked if I could prepare two monologues? You said my headshot looked like I could pull off comedy fairly well"
She shifted my resume to look at my headshot, the one she so lovingly commented on not but five minutes ago.
"Yes that's right. Good, yes. Go ahead."
So I did.
I decided to go with comedy first. It's my strong suite and I wanted her to be hooked from the get go.
I picked a compilation of Kristen Chenoweth lines from Pushing Daisies.
Well, I thought it was funny.
Agent woman waited until I paused to indicate my ending of the monologue to finally laugh.
You're listening skills are top notch aren't they?
I'm sorry, but I do not accept laughter in the form of pity. If I'm not funny, don't laugh. Especially if you're gonna half-ass the laugh, that's just insulting.
Agent-lady said nothing and kept staring so I went straight into the dramatic. It wasn't that long, an intense confessional-type monologue about a girl talking to a bff or parental figure explaining some traumatic nonsense, you know the typical dramatic shtick.
I could tell agent-lady was tuning out and just waiting for me to end. That annoyed me. My monologue wasn't long by any means, a minute tops! And I'd like to refrain from even entertaining the thought that I was so awful she couldn't sit through 30 seconds of my emoting. This visit was getting weirder by the minute, and it just screamed fishy. So to spite her... I started improvising.
"...And then he turned to me with that look. And in my mind I shouted SCAM This is a SCAM! He's trying to fool me! I have to get out of here. None of this is real!"
I embued those few lines with everything I was feeling in the moment and all the hatred I had for sensing this being yet another scam in Sherman Oaks.
She shifted her weight ever so slightly as I finished.
I think I threw her. Just a little.
I'm sorry, too close to home for yah?
"Very well done."
"Thank you."
"I can tell you're a good actor by how quickly you transitioned from comedic to your sad monologue."
Seriously? My 'Sad Monologue'? And I had no choice with you staring at me!
"Thank you very much"
"So do you have any questions for me?"
Yep! Just a few! How about who are you? Who do you work for? What are you trying to pull on me so I can just report you to SAG and get the hell out?
Instead I settled for, "What casting directors do you work with?"
"Quite a few! I was in the acting side of the business a while ago so I've made a lot of relationships."
"That's great! So which ones?" I smiled, knowing I had hit my first red flag
"Oh I can't remember right now"
Uh huh. You must be really good friends.
"Well, that's too bad. What agency did you say you worked for?"
"I've been with them for a while now. I used to be on the acting side like I said, did a few TV shows and spots. Then I started with..." She handed me a card that said her name on it and Karen Cole Talent Agency. "...from there I've been seeking new talent"
"Your agency is located..."
"In an office not to far from here"
Then why am I in you're apartment??
"Then why are we-"
"So you do improv?"
"Yes I do, but"
"Oh more questions?"
"Uh, yes. How does your agency work exactly?"
"We submit actors to casting agents..."
I know how an agency works. How do you work!?
'...and book them auditions through actors access, which you have already right?"
"Yeah, so you submit people through actors access? How's that different from what I do now?"
"You've trained with the Groundlings?"
She's trying to distract me now. And it totally works. I talk about what Ive been doing lately. The showcase I'm in, the short films I'm either working on or have done. I completely forget she hasn't answered my question yet.
And she never will.
It's tricky, when she starts to throw flattering words out. I realize she's sweet talking me and I snap back to reality.
"I'm sorry I suppose I'm still not clear on how this is run"
She's annoyed by this. From her point of view I could understand annoyance if I was asking "How do you push buttons to send an email?" But I'm not!
"We, know agents and have better connections so we'll see breakdowns before you do. We submit you for things. You go on auditions."
I drop the subject because I've clearly hit a chord with agent-lady that she doesn't want to be asked about again.
I only say that because she's glaring at me now.
There's another painful pause as she looks at my resume. The silence grew to a point where Katie, the dog, decided it was time for her input.
Then, "Do you still know some martial arts?"
YAP yap!
"Yes, actually"
yap YAP yap!
"And you roller blade"
YAPPITY YAP YAP!
"Got em in my car."
YAAPP YAP YAP YAP
"Alright well it was nice to meet you."
"Yeah. Thanks"
I rush out the door and far away from agent-lady and her dog potentially named Katie. I called everyone I knew to try to legitimize this woman. Not a soul had heard of her and she wasn't SAG franchised (a big red flag). So needless to say it was a waste, but I never signed anything nor was I contacted by them again.
Thankfully.
Hindsight makes me wish I had improvised a little more in that dramatic scene, maybe thrown in some Mackers "Red Spot" action to shake things up and draw it out longer than that grueling minute was. But alas, what's done is done.
In the end, I hope I wasted her time as much as she wasted mine.
Still smiling a whole year later,
~The Goof
I started writing this over a year ago when I still worked at Starbucks, but the story is ripe enough to remember. Enjoy!
* * * * * *
Hey again from the wastelands of Hollywood!
I finished up my "Industry Showcase" in which a grand total of three industry people showed over the course of five weeks. I wasn't all that disappointed because let's face it, the show was nothing to brag about. I could pander back and forth in it's quaint qualities, like how one of my scene partners prime choice of displaying her goodies to entice an agent, or how the other scene partner who chose to give me directing notes even though he couldn't act his way out of a box, but that's all in the past.
Recently I was called by an agent to come in for a meeting. Excited I wondered if they had seen the showcase, but as it shockingly turns out the agency had heard nothing about the showcase. Actually, it was because I had responded to a Backstage West ad requesting submissions for new talent.
When I got the call I was freaking stoked! I called the number immediately and spoke to a woman.
"Would you be able to come in next Tuesday in the afternoon?"
"Absolutely. What would you like me to prepare?"
"Just a dramatic monologue would be fine."
I was a little bummed by this. I can do dramatic just fine, but making people laugh is really a strong suite.
Suddenly I hear her say "Actually you know what? Your picture looks like you could do comedy as well, why don't you just prepare one of each."
"Great! I'll see you then"
She sent me the directions and I was off!
I made a quick call to a friend for advice. She said (and wisely so) "Know who you want to model your career after.'
Easy, Kristen Wiig or Judy Greer.
'And ask what casting directors they work with. You'll know for sure if they're legit, if they know which casting directors they work closely with."
I prepared two monologues, as they requested, and waited till the minutes at work slowly crept by. I pictured their office to be small efficient hive buzzing with activity, the front area like a dentists office, and a back room that you'd have to enter through a locked door when they called your name.
I'd go to the door, assisted by the secretary, who'd have me "go right in, they're expecting you." I'd sit down in one of their cushy chairs and explain to them why I was so passionate about acting, which actresses I looked up to, the career path I had planned, and the goals I wanted to accomplish during the year.
Perhaps they'd flash me their client list, showing off, but not too much. They'd woo me, I'd sit back and consider. Slowly they'd push a contract across their chesnut desk, to which I'd say "Let me have my lawyer look this over before I make any solid commitments." I'd joke, they'd laugh, we'd shake hands, and I'd walk out with a new found confidence to embolden my walk out to the car.
It was a lovely dream. It really was.
Finally the time came for me to blow out of work and quickly wash off the sugar plastered over my forearms from the mornings rush.
Satisifed with my new smell of Dove soap and eucalyptus mint shampoo, I quickly dressed and slapped on some make up. I was beside myself with anxiety. I breathed deep, practiced my monologues, then headed out the door.
As I got into the car I began to think, "No matter what, I'll still keep doing this. There's nothing that can stop me even if this doesn't work out today." I flung a few fumbled words up in prayer then started to feel really confident, this was going to happen. Slowly I started to allow myself my little day dreams.
Maybe within the month I could quit the morning job (yeah not day job... morning) I could get some sleep, be on set, write new material for my stand up (stuff that had nothing to do with working at Starbucks). I could start plannig for "the next step." I'd have enough money saved to start studying with new acting teachers. I'd then have to decide whether or not I'd go to graduate school sooner than later, and what course I'd like to persue. Maybe I could find the fencing class I always wanted to take. I could put aside some more money to support things like Habitat For Humanity, or organizations my friends have started
All in all I could finally start my career.
Wait. Let's slow down. We still gotta get through the meeting first.
But still... It would be nice.
Yeah, it would. But you gotta be realistic.
Hrumphh.
As I drove I calmed my nerves by thinking of other things. Recent engagements, up coming family trips, anything really. It wasn't long before I was through the traffic and turning down the streets toward the office. A route that took me past a few memory lane locations. A route, that has been riddled with scams...
With each turn I became a little more suspicious. I swear every time I'm in Sherman Oaks I run into a scam. I've made it past a lot of them but some still burn from following through. It's amazing how easily people can sweet talk things over. Get you to pay for your friends tickets in advanced to sell to people. Make the cost part of the "curriculum" until you realize no one wants to go see these little "shows" this sham of school is putting on. If you know what I'm talking about, I didn't say anything, if you don't... there are plenty of scams running under the same standards.
The area was changing from office buildings, to high end apartments.
Initially I gave pause, but as usual, I ignored it.
I want so bad for this to be real
(News flash, your wanting it real bad changes nothing)
When my headshots were taken I met the photographer in her apartment building. So this wasn't a clear sign of anything fishy. Not yet.
Had the agent been a man, there was no way I would have kept driving. But the woman I spoke to was, well a woman, and seemed nice enough.
My car parks in front of this fairly nice apartment building, and I'm in my cluttered car trying to scramble all of my material together.
Whatever this turns out to be, I thought to myself, I will remain professional.
As soon as I step out of the car, in the gorgeous dress my roommates had bought me, I step on the hem. Unintentionally it slips a little, showing more of my chest than I care to have in public. I look around, and for the first time am thankful for the fact that it's a semi-secluded residential area. Pulling up the dress I wonder if the agent is peering out some window watching this whole haphazard fiasco unfold before I even get to the gate.
Breathe you goof!
I settle myself and walk towards the gate with confidence. Once I finally locate the name on the key pad, trying my darndest to not beat myself up for taking so long to find the correct name, I punch it and wait. The same woman answers and rings for the door to open.
Once inside, I realize she never gave me directions on how to get to her door...
I scramble.
Luckily I had made a note during the intial call for what the room number was. Thanking my dad in the back of my mind for constantly telling me to write things down, I made my way through the maze of doors.
It took a while to realize that her apartment was most likely on the second floor, a fact that would have been nice to tell me at first, seeing as the number gave no indication it was on another floor. But I guess that should have gone along with the information of "oh and this isn't an actual office"
The elevator climbed slowly up the one floor, because of course there were no stairs in sight, as I began to day dream again about what this apartment looked like. All the others I'd been to were plain on the outside and looked like an office on the inside. Donned with chairs, a small side table adorned with business cards, a blinking phone in the corner that indicated mutiple calls coming through and being answered by another phone in a different part of the house. Perhaps a tidy yet frazzled secretary would stop by, on the way to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
When I arrived to reality, there was a scarecrow beconing me towards the door while large mat sat beneath my feet printed with the enormous letters WELCOME.
I knocked.
Nothing.
Is this even the right address?
I knocked again looking around.
I knocked a third time when I finally heard movement. I stood at attention looking as professional and non-hunchy as I could manage.
I AM confidence.
A muffled, "Hey come on in!"came from behind the door.
Okay... it's cool. Just push the door open.
This is weird.
She just can't get the door yet, no biggie.
Who can't walk two feet to answer a door?
Would you just walk through!?
I walk in to see a very tidy apartment. Freshly vacuumed carpets, a larger than life TV, a ceiling high book shelf filled with DVDs. The woman/agent in question crossed the limited vision I had from the doorway. She seemed to redirect her path towards me as if shaking my hand were a last minute thought.
"Hello, come in"
No problem...Stepford wife?
As I walked in she ushered me to sit on the couch across from her and as I did so, she stared. Very patiently. But awkwardly as well...
"Oh! Here's my headshot and resume."
"Yes of course, this is a nice shot."
"Thank you"
"Okay are you ready?"
"Ready?"
Just then I started hearing yapping... from the kitchen.
Sure.
"Oh I'm so sorry that's my dog. She gets excited when new people come in"
The agent woman moved towards the kitchen.
"Katie!"
I turned in her direction
"KATIE!!"
"Uh... yes?" I asked timidly
"Oh sorry, not you."
She started scolding the tiny dog that was sanctioned behind her kitchen counter. Apparently this little overactive pup and I share the same name.
Do you change the name for all your perspective clients?
I was beginning to beg God why I could never walk into a normal situation in my life when the agent-lady pushed the dog out of the kitchen where it bounded right up to me. It yapped and started jumping repeatedly up and down on my leg. This only added to my suspicion that the dog was actually named Katie.
You're a very confused girl aren't you? Get off my leg!
Agent-lady finally coaxed her outside onto a 2x5 balcony. Sliding the glass door shut, Katie the dog jumped up and down yapping even louder.
"Don't worry about her" agent-lady explained, as she locked the glass door "she usually stops once she's outside"
She started settling in.
Yap. BANG! Yap BANG!
"KATIE STOP!!" She got up and flipped the vertical shutters closed, then sat back down on the couch.
Uncomfortable I adjusted my dress and made sure my girls were still under wraps. Didn't want any more surprise guest appearances.
"So," I said as she looked over my resume quietly, "I prepared the two monologues you asked for."
"Oh."
Oh?! Oh, What?
"Remember you called me and asked if I could prepare two monologues? You said my headshot looked like I could pull off comedy fairly well"
She shifted my resume to look at my headshot, the one she so lovingly commented on not but five minutes ago.
"Yes that's right. Good, yes. Go ahead."
So I did.
I decided to go with comedy first. It's my strong suite and I wanted her to be hooked from the get go.
I picked a compilation of Kristen Chenoweth lines from Pushing Daisies.
Well, I thought it was funny.
Agent woman waited until I paused to indicate my ending of the monologue to finally laugh.
You're listening skills are top notch aren't they?
I'm sorry, but I do not accept laughter in the form of pity. If I'm not funny, don't laugh. Especially if you're gonna half-ass the laugh, that's just insulting.
Agent-lady said nothing and kept staring so I went straight into the dramatic. It wasn't that long, an intense confessional-type monologue about a girl talking to a bff or parental figure explaining some traumatic nonsense, you know the typical dramatic shtick.
I could tell agent-lady was tuning out and just waiting for me to end. That annoyed me. My monologue wasn't long by any means, a minute tops! And I'd like to refrain from even entertaining the thought that I was so awful she couldn't sit through 30 seconds of my emoting. This visit was getting weirder by the minute, and it just screamed fishy. So to spite her... I started improvising.
"...And then he turned to me with that look. And in my mind I shouted SCAM This is a SCAM! He's trying to fool me! I have to get out of here. None of this is real!"
I embued those few lines with everything I was feeling in the moment and all the hatred I had for sensing this being yet another scam in Sherman Oaks.
She shifted her weight ever so slightly as I finished.
I think I threw her. Just a little.
I'm sorry, too close to home for yah?
"Very well done."
"Thank you."
"I can tell you're a good actor by how quickly you transitioned from comedic to your sad monologue."
Seriously? My 'Sad Monologue'? And I had no choice with you staring at me!
"Thank you very much"
"So do you have any questions for me?"
Yep! Just a few! How about who are you? Who do you work for? What are you trying to pull on me so I can just report you to SAG and get the hell out?
Instead I settled for, "What casting directors do you work with?"
"Quite a few! I was in the acting side of the business a while ago so I've made a lot of relationships."
"That's great! So which ones?" I smiled, knowing I had hit my first red flag
"Oh I can't remember right now"
Uh huh. You must be really good friends.
"Well, that's too bad. What agency did you say you worked for?"
"I've been with them for a while now. I used to be on the acting side like I said, did a few TV shows and spots. Then I started with..." She handed me a card that said her name on it and Karen Cole Talent Agency. "...from there I've been seeking new talent"
"Your agency is located..."
"In an office not to far from here"
Then why am I in you're apartment??
"Then why are we-"
"So you do improv?"
"Yes I do, but"
"Oh more questions?"
"Uh, yes. How does your agency work exactly?"
"We submit actors to casting agents..."
I know how an agency works. How do you work!?
'...and book them auditions through actors access, which you have already right?"
"Yeah, so you submit people through actors access? How's that different from what I do now?"
"You've trained with the Groundlings?"
She's trying to distract me now. And it totally works. I talk about what Ive been doing lately. The showcase I'm in, the short films I'm either working on or have done. I completely forget she hasn't answered my question yet.
And she never will.
It's tricky, when she starts to throw flattering words out. I realize she's sweet talking me and I snap back to reality.
"I'm sorry I suppose I'm still not clear on how this is run"
She's annoyed by this. From her point of view I could understand annoyance if I was asking "How do you push buttons to send an email?" But I'm not!
"We, know agents and have better connections so we'll see breakdowns before you do. We submit you for things. You go on auditions."
I drop the subject because I've clearly hit a chord with agent-lady that she doesn't want to be asked about again.
I only say that because she's glaring at me now.
There's another painful pause as she looks at my resume. The silence grew to a point where Katie, the dog, decided it was time for her input.
Then, "Do you still know some martial arts?"
YAP yap!
"Yes, actually"
yap YAP yap!
"And you roller blade"
YAPPITY YAP YAP!
"Got em in my car."
YAAPP YAP YAP YAP
"Alright well it was nice to meet you."
"Yeah. Thanks"
I rush out the door and far away from agent-lady and her dog potentially named Katie. I called everyone I knew to try to legitimize this woman. Not a soul had heard of her and she wasn't SAG franchised (a big red flag). So needless to say it was a waste, but I never signed anything nor was I contacted by them again.
Thankfully.
Hindsight makes me wish I had improvised a little more in that dramatic scene, maybe thrown in some Mackers "Red Spot" action to shake things up and draw it out longer than that grueling minute was. But alas, what's done is done.
In the end, I hope I wasted her time as much as she wasted mine.
Still smiling a whole year later,
~The Goof
Thursday, April 14, 2011
I'll Giver Her a HA!
...And Hi YAH! And Whooo WaH! And then I kick her sir."
When I was a kid I did a lot of sports. Basketball, soccer, baseball, and even roller hockey. I'm of the belief that I still posses those skills, even though the last time I practiced any of them was over ten years ago.
Oh yeah, and I was also one step away from a black belt.
Go ahead, be impressed.
Now, when an audition pops up that says "karate skills a must" I tend to back away. Karate as a must I can not do. Mostly because what people are looking for isn't the correct way to throw a punch. Rather, they want to see me throw a punch while twirling over a burning car five times in pigtails and catholic school girl outfit. Winking at the camera mid-flight. I don't posses those kinds of skills, especially the school girl get up.
I do know how to throw a proper punch.
Should an audition arise that says "karate skills a plus," then I'm all about it. They also included "Improv and comedic timing a plus as well"
Well that's just down right meant for me.
And that is precisely what I submitted myself for.
I submit, and not too long after I get a message saying that I've being considered for the role. They send me the script, a brief comedic short of all about 3 or 4 pages. I read it over, and am intrigued by the nuances and word play.
The basic premise is a girl walking down a dark alley when she hears a plank of wood being scraped against the pavement, she turns, and comes face to face with some thugs. They threaten her, making bad puns on the word "wood" and she realizes her ultimate tool in this fight is having a better verbal comeback. The script was rife with cheesy one liners, and tongue in cheek dialogue.
At least that's what I thought it was about.
I thought it was strange that the gangsters made several puns on wood, but I went with it. I mean that was their weapon of choice, so why not? Maybe they were a gang whose all about the wood.
I came up with a few lines about timber, and some Woody the Woodpecker references. I was prepared in case of the chance to improv a few lines.
I got to the audition in plenty of time, only to find a gaggle of girls my age who were much shorter and much slimmer.
Ahh the audition room.
Being taller and not having the concentration camp* look has been something I've gotten used to. Personally I like eating cookie dough and portos potato balls, and I'm stuck with my height. There's nothing I can do about that one, no matter how many times I'm told "Oh wow, you're tall." So until I finally wise up and turn this size 8 into an appropriate size 4, all the twiggies can go ahead and keep starving themselves. I'll let you watch me whip up a fresh batch of Nestle Tollhouse if it makes you feel better.
I'm not, however, prepared for keeping up with their fashion. I hail from the land of Arizona, where the closest resemblance to fashion is big gaudy turquoise rock necklaces, sometimes with engraved lizards. How was I supposed to know that this audition would require tights under a flowy club shirt? Apparently I didn't get the memo.
Everyone seemed to have the same exact outfit but me.
I was in my typical fashion, jeans and a semi-cute shirt. (The shirt that I had worn to two other auditions earlier that week...shhhh). I wanted to spice it up a bit so instead of my usual black puma tennies, four years and still kickin, I wear my floral patterned Mary Janes.
Do you love it?
I love it!
Guess where I got them...
As I wait, I realize I haven't printed the sides out, actor mistake number one. I berate myself for being underprepared, and sit there wondering if I even own a pair of tights. Luckily the monitor gives me a copy of the script to look over. I went through the lines a few times trying to remember where I put all the beats. When suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see a friend in the next audition room.
It's a split second before the door is shut, and it happened so quickly that I ignored it. A few minutes later the door opens again revealing my friend. She was helping out with the audition in the room next door.
I squeal, actor mistake number two (disrupting the calm of the waiting room), and we chat. Our conversation is so involved with catching up and ranting over an old issue, that I forget to look over my lines more than the one time, mistake number three.
Before I know it the monitor has popped his head out and is motioning for me to come in. I give a hasty good bye, as I've completely forgotten that I was doing this audition.
Like jumping into a pool of ice, I walked into the audition room where I met the camera man, director, and the monitor again. The director already looks like she'd seen enough bad acting for one day. One hand on her forehead slumped over a table full of headshots and paperwork, giving me a small pinky wave for her greeting.
The monitor walks me through the blocking and introduces me to my 'thug,' who turns out to be an eight foot plank of wood leaning against a chair. On it is a sharpie drawn face with a gold chain, sun glasses, and red bandana. I laughed thinking that this was probably cheaper than hiring a stunt man to play off of for auditions.
They ask if I'm ready.
"Oh yeah, of course!" I lied. I had no idea what I was doing.
I wore a coat because it was somewhat integral to the blocking, there's a part in the script where she throws it off and puts up her dukes. I start to get situated and just as I'm about to start the monitor says "You're cold, it's cold outside"
"Right!" I say brightly, though a little annoyed because I hadn't even started yet.
I grab my coat a little tighter, with my purse and script jutting out at weird angels.
I move to the center of the room, where the scene starts.
At the right moment in the dialogue I chuck off my coat and throw down my purse, I accidentally threw the script down as well, and put up my fists glaring at the plank of wood. The cameraman starts in on the dialogue.
Luckily I don't have any lines for about a page and a half, as the cameraman rambles off about five characters worth of dialogue. I quickly duck out of frame to pick up my script and pop back up, nearly forgetting to say my line,"You don't want any trouble"
It's sparse dialogue on my end so I react my ass off.
At one point in the script it calls for a quick cut to a flash back scene between the girl and her sensei. Usually the director stops you and you either switch to another scene or just stop all together. Instead of doing one scene or another, they decide to power on through...
Monitor- "Okay and now something distracts you that reminds you of your teacher"
Me (thrown) - "I'm sorry, what? Did you want me to stop there?"
Monitor- "No, keep going."
Me (confused, because I still don't have the next line) "..."
Monitor -"..." (blank stare)
Me- "It's not my line-"
Monitor (cutting me off)- "There is one thing you must learn young apprentice...'
Awkward moment passes and I say my line "And what is that sensei?"
We continue the scene, which is mainly the other person talking. I continue to react. Then it's nearing the end of the scene. At this point I'm supposed to go into fighter mode. So I assume the position, and say the line "Time to knock on wood" And for the hell of it I throw out a fairly good kick.
They stop me and ask if they can see my karate moves.
Well I was just about to do that when you stopped me!
"Yeah sure," I say, "But honestly it has been a while."
"That's alright, we just want to see you throw a couple of jabs."
"Cool, do you mind if I improv a few lines?"
"That'd be great"
So I assume the stance again. You know, legs shoulder width apart, bend at the knees, fists in front to protect the face with the thumb properly tucked outside of the fist.
I throw a front jab, right hook. A little "Ha!" Kick to the groin, upper cut, left jab. A little "Ya!"
I back off a bit, bobbing, and say "Did someone say timber?"
I try my best at an eyebrow cock, which more than likely comes off as a faint gesture from the bushy caterpillar occupying my forehead.
Then I do a high round house kick to the face of that smug plank of wood. "YAH!"
I feel like their somewhat enjoying this so I pause in front of the eight by four and shout that woodpecker laugh. The one that goes "Huh hu ha HA ha. Huh hu ha HA ha. Heh heh hehheheheh"**
And I head butt the plank of wood.
"I'll show you my woodpecker!"
You'll what!?! Why did you just say that? What does that even mean?
I throw another right hook and left high kick, hoping they didn't hear that.
They chuckle a little uneasily and start their "Okay... thank you..."
I know I've lost the audition, which is bad enough. Until I go into desperate mode (actor mistake, always)
So I thought I'd show them an age old joke called The Penguin Dance.
This little diddy was shown to me by a friend in high school whom shall remain nameless, but for the sake of story we shall call the Short Mexican. Short Mexican would get a lot of flack for his stature, so he would tell these bullies he had a dance to show them. He promised it would attract any woman, and that he needed them to stand close so they could get it right. The Short Mexican would places his arms by his sides and flick his wrists out like a girl showing off a cute dress. The Short Mexican would then ask them to raise their arms as he, adorably, turned in a circle hopping from one foot to another, and began singing "I'm a penguin, I'm a penguin, look at me!"
And on "look at me" he would flick one of his hands, ninja style, creating what is known as a Ball Tap. Before the bully hit the ground he'd already run away. The once belittling bully would suddenly be reduced to a folded heap on the floor.
I can't tell you how many times I saw him do this dance, and how many gentlemen have fallen to their knees in pain. I can tell you that I laughed every time it happened.
When I was a kid I did a lot of sports. Basketball, soccer, baseball, and even roller hockey. I'm of the belief that I still posses those skills, even though the last time I practiced any of them was over ten years ago.
Oh yeah, and I was also one step away from a black belt.
Go ahead, be impressed.
Now, when an audition pops up that says "karate skills a must" I tend to back away. Karate as a must I can not do. Mostly because what people are looking for isn't the correct way to throw a punch. Rather, they want to see me throw a punch while twirling over a burning car five times in pigtails and catholic school girl outfit. Winking at the camera mid-flight. I don't posses those kinds of skills, especially the school girl get up.
I do know how to throw a proper punch.
Should an audition arise that says "karate skills a plus," then I'm all about it. They also included "Improv and comedic timing a plus as well"
Well that's just down right meant for me.
And that is precisely what I submitted myself for.
I submit, and not too long after I get a message saying that I've being considered for the role. They send me the script, a brief comedic short of all about 3 or 4 pages. I read it over, and am intrigued by the nuances and word play.
The basic premise is a girl walking down a dark alley when she hears a plank of wood being scraped against the pavement, she turns, and comes face to face with some thugs. They threaten her, making bad puns on the word "wood" and she realizes her ultimate tool in this fight is having a better verbal comeback. The script was rife with cheesy one liners, and tongue in cheek dialogue.
At least that's what I thought it was about.
I thought it was strange that the gangsters made several puns on wood, but I went with it. I mean that was their weapon of choice, so why not? Maybe they were a gang whose all about the wood.
I came up with a few lines about timber, and some Woody the Woodpecker references. I was prepared in case of the chance to improv a few lines.
I got to the audition in plenty of time, only to find a gaggle of girls my age who were much shorter and much slimmer.
Ahh the audition room.
Being taller and not having the concentration camp* look has been something I've gotten used to. Personally I like eating cookie dough and portos potato balls, and I'm stuck with my height. There's nothing I can do about that one, no matter how many times I'm told "Oh wow, you're tall." So until I finally wise up and turn this size 8 into an appropriate size 4, all the twiggies can go ahead and keep starving themselves. I'll let you watch me whip up a fresh batch of Nestle Tollhouse if it makes you feel better.
I'm not, however, prepared for keeping up with their fashion. I hail from the land of Arizona, where the closest resemblance to fashion is big gaudy turquoise rock necklaces, sometimes with engraved lizards. How was I supposed to know that this audition would require tights under a flowy club shirt? Apparently I didn't get the memo.
Everyone seemed to have the same exact outfit but me.
I was in my typical fashion, jeans and a semi-cute shirt. (The shirt that I had worn to two other auditions earlier that week...shhhh). I wanted to spice it up a bit so instead of my usual black puma tennies, four years and still kickin, I wear my floral patterned Mary Janes.
Do you love it?
I love it!
Guess where I got them...
As I wait, I realize I haven't printed the sides out, actor mistake number one. I berate myself for being underprepared, and sit there wondering if I even own a pair of tights. Luckily the monitor gives me a copy of the script to look over. I went through the lines a few times trying to remember where I put all the beats. When suddenly out of the corner of my eye I see a friend in the next audition room.
It's a split second before the door is shut, and it happened so quickly that I ignored it. A few minutes later the door opens again revealing my friend. She was helping out with the audition in the room next door.
I squeal, actor mistake number two (disrupting the calm of the waiting room), and we chat. Our conversation is so involved with catching up and ranting over an old issue, that I forget to look over my lines more than the one time, mistake number three.
Before I know it the monitor has popped his head out and is motioning for me to come in. I give a hasty good bye, as I've completely forgotten that I was doing this audition.
Like jumping into a pool of ice, I walked into the audition room where I met the camera man, director, and the monitor again. The director already looks like she'd seen enough bad acting for one day. One hand on her forehead slumped over a table full of headshots and paperwork, giving me a small pinky wave for her greeting.
The monitor walks me through the blocking and introduces me to my 'thug,' who turns out to be an eight foot plank of wood leaning against a chair. On it is a sharpie drawn face with a gold chain, sun glasses, and red bandana. I laughed thinking that this was probably cheaper than hiring a stunt man to play off of for auditions.
They ask if I'm ready.
"Oh yeah, of course!" I lied. I had no idea what I was doing.
I wore a coat because it was somewhat integral to the blocking, there's a part in the script where she throws it off and puts up her dukes. I start to get situated and just as I'm about to start the monitor says "You're cold, it's cold outside"
"Right!" I say brightly, though a little annoyed because I hadn't even started yet.
I grab my coat a little tighter, with my purse and script jutting out at weird angels.
I move to the center of the room, where the scene starts.
At the right moment in the dialogue I chuck off my coat and throw down my purse, I accidentally threw the script down as well, and put up my fists glaring at the plank of wood. The cameraman starts in on the dialogue.
Luckily I don't have any lines for about a page and a half, as the cameraman rambles off about five characters worth of dialogue. I quickly duck out of frame to pick up my script and pop back up, nearly forgetting to say my line,"You don't want any trouble"
It's sparse dialogue on my end so I react my ass off.
At one point in the script it calls for a quick cut to a flash back scene between the girl and her sensei. Usually the director stops you and you either switch to another scene or just stop all together. Instead of doing one scene or another, they decide to power on through...
Monitor- "Okay and now something distracts you that reminds you of your teacher"
Me (thrown) - "I'm sorry, what? Did you want me to stop there?"
Monitor- "No, keep going."
Me (confused, because I still don't have the next line) "..."
Monitor -"..." (blank stare)
Me- "It's not my line-"
Monitor (cutting me off)- "There is one thing you must learn young apprentice...'
Awkward moment passes and I say my line "And what is that sensei?"
We continue the scene, which is mainly the other person talking. I continue to react. Then it's nearing the end of the scene. At this point I'm supposed to go into fighter mode. So I assume the position, and say the line "Time to knock on wood" And for the hell of it I throw out a fairly good kick.
They stop me and ask if they can see my karate moves.
Well I was just about to do that when you stopped me!
"Yeah sure," I say, "But honestly it has been a while."
"That's alright, we just want to see you throw a couple of jabs."
"Cool, do you mind if I improv a few lines?"
"That'd be great"
So I assume the stance again. You know, legs shoulder width apart, bend at the knees, fists in front to protect the face with the thumb properly tucked outside of the fist.
I throw a front jab, right hook. A little "Ha!" Kick to the groin, upper cut, left jab. A little "Ya!"
I back off a bit, bobbing, and say "Did someone say timber?"
I try my best at an eyebrow cock, which more than likely comes off as a faint gesture from the bushy caterpillar occupying my forehead.
Then I do a high round house kick to the face of that smug plank of wood. "YAH!"
I feel like their somewhat enjoying this so I pause in front of the eight by four and shout that woodpecker laugh. The one that goes "Huh hu ha HA ha. Huh hu ha HA ha. Heh heh hehheheheh"**
And I head butt the plank of wood.
"I'll show you my woodpecker!"
You'll what!?! Why did you just say that? What does that even mean?
I throw another right hook and left high kick, hoping they didn't hear that.
They chuckle a little uneasily and start their "Okay... thank you..."
I know I've lost the audition, which is bad enough. Until I go into desperate mode (actor mistake, always)
So I thought I'd show them an age old joke called The Penguin Dance.
This little diddy was shown to me by a friend in high school whom shall remain nameless, but for the sake of story we shall call the Short Mexican. Short Mexican would get a lot of flack for his stature, so he would tell these bullies he had a dance to show them. He promised it would attract any woman, and that he needed them to stand close so they could get it right. The Short Mexican would places his arms by his sides and flick his wrists out like a girl showing off a cute dress. The Short Mexican would then ask them to raise their arms as he, adorably, turned in a circle hopping from one foot to another, and began singing "I'm a penguin, I'm a penguin, look at me!"
And on "look at me" he would flick one of his hands, ninja style, creating what is known as a Ball Tap. Before the bully hit the ground he'd already run away. The once belittling bully would suddenly be reduced to a folded heap on the floor.
I can't tell you how many times I saw him do this dance, and how many gentlemen have fallen to their knees in pain. I can tell you that I laughed every time it happened.
Monday, July 12, 2010
I Scared A Little Girl Today...
Well technically it was yesterday but I couldn't post this till today.
So as the story usually goes I was at an audition. I had received a casting notice for a production that involved masks and puppetry. I was especially excited about the puppet because ever since Muppet Treasure Island graced my childhood I had always had a small yearning to be a muppeteer. So I submitted and got called in for Sunday in the morning right at 11:20.
I had honestly considered not going over various reasons like being too tired, exhausted from getting cut from virtually every audition I go on, and more specifically the world cup was on at 11:30! I had gone back and forth, waffling over whether it was worth it. Until the night before I was talking with my sister and she asked how I was doing and if I had any auditions coming up. I told her honestly that I had been pretty down lately after being rejected so many times, and was debating on whether or not it was even worth going to this crazy mask and puppet audition. This of course is just the life of an actor, being rejected on a regular basis, but it can be extremely trying and sometimes I let it eek over into other areas in my life.
"I just really want to be in a show!" I whined. (Because I am an adult and that's what we do)
"Well you know how you get into a show?" my sister asks ironically.Smirking I nodded and decided it was best to go to this silly audition.
The requirements seemed simple enough, bring in a movement piece and we will have a cd player if you need back up music. When I got home from my sisters house that night it was nearing midnight, a mere eleven hours before I had to be at the audition. As soon as I sat down to think about what I was going to do my mind went blank.
Great timing brain.
I looked up my iTunes music to see what I had in storage but realized that my computer is awesome and had randomly deleted over half my library, just because it felt like it. So every other song would pop up a message something like "This file could not be found because it potentially does not exist, would you like to try and locate it?"
Sweet.I was at a loss until I remembered a project a good friend of mine had created. It included music from Amelie. I loved the movie and the music, and the way my friend incorporated it into her show worked really well in regards to movement.
Now I'm not one for stealing ideas. Perhaps expanding on ideas is more what I do, but I did feel a little guilt in the back of my mind that I wasn't being entirely original. But I did it anyway.
I picked the third song on the cd "La noyée" and began to burst a vein trying to think of a simple story I could express with just my body.
It was nearing 1:30 when I finally settled on the genius plan that this would be about a girl getting up for work. She can barely lift her head until she has her coffee then realizes she's late and rush out the door. She'd try to catch a cab being blown over by the cars rushing past and eventually had to pay someone for their scooter.
It was cute, simple, and quaint but at 1:30 in the morning... it was brilliant!
As the alarm went off "La noyée" played and I did a quick rehearsal of the piece before I was up and about getting ready for the day.
I rushed off to Jo-Ann's in Glendale nearly missing it twice because it's in a really random area of town. I was helped by a next to clueless man who ended up having to turn me over to a much younger and more assured clerk. As soon as the receipt was handed over I was tearing open the plastic package and taking out the blank mask. I examined the mask in my car timidly putting it on and looking at myself in the mirror.
I looked like a creep. Especially with my hair down.
Becoming ridiculously shy in the empty Jo-Ann's parking lot I started my car and headed off to the audition. When I arrived I was about 40 minutes early, so I parked in a free residential area. Seeing as I hadn't practiced the piece with the mask I decided to do a quick run through in my car.
Paranoid, as always, I looked around to see if there was anyone watching. The houses looked deserted and I assumed everyone was watching the world cup.
Come on I coaxed myself. Don't get shy now. Since when have you been so bashful?
Considering this for a minute I pulled the blank mask down over my head and played the music. I quickly became aware of how hard it was going to be just to breathe. I moved through the motions and noted where I'd have difficulty seeing and how I'd have to move more specifically to get an emotion across. I was suddenly on fire with inspiration. I ran through the movements with great flourish and without hesitation.
As I neared the end of the piece I whipped my head up and saw the little girl staring at me.
She was walking with her mom down the sidewalk I was parked on. She was maybe four or five years old and wore a pink shirt and her hair was in sloppy pig tails, falling out most likely from running around too much. Her face was serious, as though the morning’s exuberance had never happened. She'd walk two steps or so and turn back, her mother dragging her along.
I sat in my car frozen to my seat, as though I had been caught in the act; which... I had been. The girl noticed me staring back at her and stopped dead in her tracks no longer allowing her mother to take a single step further. Confused her mother turned as well. I sat their horrified that creepy ol me was still wearing this masking sitting in my car... my hands still up in the air.
Slowly I lowered my hands and lifted the mask off.
The girl dropped her mother’s hand, as though she had confirmed that this weirdo had finally materialized into reality. And mom kept staring too.
Uncomfortable and glowing bright red I checked around my car as if there were something else they might be looking at. I thought maybe there was something more eccentric than me around... but nope it was just me. And them.
I turned back around to see their backs faced to me as mom rushed tiny pig tails away from whatever this was.
Part of me was thoroughly embarrassed.
But the other part, that crazy deranged side that's kept me doing theater for years... that part laughed.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A Harried Attempt
**This was not recent, this was written a while ago. My eyebrows are not as jacked up currently***
I should probably never drink a lot of coffee and then try to get ready for an audition. It was the afternoon before I had to go to work at the YMCA and I had just gotten off of work at Starbucks. I had an audition later that evening so I knew the only time I could really prepare was the few hours between Starbucks and the YMCA. After Starbucks I was still feeling sleepy so I order a triple tall peppermint white mocha, my first mistake of the morning. Since the tall drink is fairly small, I had finished about half of it by the time I reached my house. I was doing great on time so far and I was starting to feel the first inkling of energy. Once I was done showering I finished the rest of my drink and now everything was moving in slow motion around me as I whipped through my chores. Laundry, done. Dishes, clean. Acting submissions, sent. Taxes…later. Everything was ready as I printed out my newly updated resume and organized it in a folder along side my headshot.
Now all I had to do was maintenance my face. It had been a while since I had an audition so things were starting get a little out of hand, mainly my eyebrows. Now I’ve never been very good at keeping up with my eyebrows, its just one of those tasks I dread doing and I’m too lazy to go get them done every other week, or however often you’re supposed to. So I do what I find natural, I look up instructions on You Tube. I sift through all of the instruction videos geared towards male upkeep of the eyebrow (I never realized this was a thing for men as well) and I find a fairly homemade instruction video. She begins with all the tools you’ll need in order to accomplish this task and I nod along as she lists tweezers and an eyeliner pencil for touch ups. But then she mentions a pair of small scissors. “I have a pair of mustache scissors, which work very well for eyebrows,” she says and I start to scramble. What once was energy fueled by three shots of espresso, quickly becomes fuel for an overactive anxiety tantrum.
Tiny Scissors!? I don’t have tiny scissors!?
Maybe my roommates have some!
And I begin to rush through the bathroom like a whirl wind all the while justifying my borrowing by saying “I’ll clean them thoroughly after!” As I open every drawer and cabinet, the instruction girl ideally carries on about the benefits of the various kinds of eyebrow wax. Finally I flop down in front of the computer, puffing air in and out as I hold my foot long pair of scissors that are normally used to cut large pieces of paper, or boxes. The girl flippantly throws out the warning that one should only use a pair of scissors that are small so as to maintain precision. I pause, considering her warning, and finally choose to ignore it as the minutes tick by closer to when I’m supposed to leave for work.
First, eyebrow girl goes into the general cleaning up under the eyebrow, and I start to skim through in order to find where she talks about trimming. With a fancy little eyebrow brush she combs her eyebrow up and talks about the importance of line and eye placement, while I suddenly start frantically searching for something resembling a tiny brush. At first I just use the tip of the tweezers, but as my eyebrow slowly sinks back down I realize I’ll need something else. I grab hold of my hair brush with the plastic knobby bristles and haphazardly start to rake my eyebrow upwards, occasionally taking my eyelid with it. All the while, instructional eyebrow girl shows the exact way to hold your tiny scissors, as I lower my airplane sized pair closer to my face. She makes quick concise cuts as I take my eyes away from the screen in order to watch the destruction I’m about to inflict on my face.
I snip a large chunk off of one brow. It looks reasonably good!
So THAT’S how people make them smaller… Ooohh.
Excited I look down at the clock, only 8 minutes left before I should leave. Panicked I start trimming a little too much. Suddenly I look in the mirror; my left eyebrow has a large gap in it while my right one looks like a caterpillar run over with a lawn mower. I start to panic even more, the caffeine coursing through my veins, blood pounding in my ears as I go red and blotchy with embarrassment and anger.
Umm, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR FACE!?!?!
Silently I hear the voice of one of my class clowns saying “Miss Katie your eyebrows are jacked UP!”
I scramble, the eyebrow lady is just touching on the subject of how to cover up any mistake with eyeliner. I grab my set of pencils that were mainly used for shows and old age makeup and go to town. 5 minutes left. My right eyebrow looks like Charlie Chaplin’s stunted mustache as my left lazily stretches out perfectly across my brow. I freak and try to correct only making the right one larger and. I start back peddling by trying to make the left one match. Now I have 70 year old man-brows darker than asphalt. 3 minutes until I need to leave…
In order to start over I furiously wash my face making it bright as a cherry; which becomes neon in comparison to the suddenly very pale patches in my eyebrows.
I should cancel my audition, I think to myself.
Oh stop it just take a deep breath, and try again. You look funny but you can still act.
Ugh, fine.
So I take a deep breath acknowledge I may be a tad late for the YMCA and continue to fill in the blanks on my face. Slowly but surely my eyebrows suddenly resemble… well, eyebrows! I look at them from side to side, they seem alright. I pack my things quickly noting all of the papers and clothes I’ll need to take to my audition.
I rush out the door in a flurry and make it to the YMCA only 5 minutes passed my usual time. As I sit in the office my co-worker, and the local office teaser, talks to me while glancing every now and then above my eyes. She says nothing about them. I breathe.
Just don’t rub your forehead.
~Goof
I should probably never drink a lot of coffee and then try to get ready for an audition. It was the afternoon before I had to go to work at the YMCA and I had just gotten off of work at Starbucks. I had an audition later that evening so I knew the only time I could really prepare was the few hours between Starbucks and the YMCA. After Starbucks I was still feeling sleepy so I order a triple tall peppermint white mocha, my first mistake of the morning. Since the tall drink is fairly small, I had finished about half of it by the time I reached my house. I was doing great on time so far and I was starting to feel the first inkling of energy. Once I was done showering I finished the rest of my drink and now everything was moving in slow motion around me as I whipped through my chores. Laundry, done. Dishes, clean. Acting submissions, sent. Taxes…later. Everything was ready as I printed out my newly updated resume and organized it in a folder along side my headshot.
Now all I had to do was maintenance my face. It had been a while since I had an audition so things were starting get a little out of hand, mainly my eyebrows. Now I’ve never been very good at keeping up with my eyebrows, its just one of those tasks I dread doing and I’m too lazy to go get them done every other week, or however often you’re supposed to. So I do what I find natural, I look up instructions on You Tube. I sift through all of the instruction videos geared towards male upkeep of the eyebrow (I never realized this was a thing for men as well) and I find a fairly homemade instruction video. She begins with all the tools you’ll need in order to accomplish this task and I nod along as she lists tweezers and an eyeliner pencil for touch ups. But then she mentions a pair of small scissors. “I have a pair of mustache scissors, which work very well for eyebrows,” she says and I start to scramble. What once was energy fueled by three shots of espresso, quickly becomes fuel for an overactive anxiety tantrum.
Tiny Scissors!? I don’t have tiny scissors!?
Maybe my roommates have some!
And I begin to rush through the bathroom like a whirl wind all the while justifying my borrowing by saying “I’ll clean them thoroughly after!” As I open every drawer and cabinet, the instruction girl ideally carries on about the benefits of the various kinds of eyebrow wax. Finally I flop down in front of the computer, puffing air in and out as I hold my foot long pair of scissors that are normally used to cut large pieces of paper, or boxes. The girl flippantly throws out the warning that one should only use a pair of scissors that are small so as to maintain precision. I pause, considering her warning, and finally choose to ignore it as the minutes tick by closer to when I’m supposed to leave for work.
First, eyebrow girl goes into the general cleaning up under the eyebrow, and I start to skim through in order to find where she talks about trimming. With a fancy little eyebrow brush she combs her eyebrow up and talks about the importance of line and eye placement, while I suddenly start frantically searching for something resembling a tiny brush. At first I just use the tip of the tweezers, but as my eyebrow slowly sinks back down I realize I’ll need something else. I grab hold of my hair brush with the plastic knobby bristles and haphazardly start to rake my eyebrow upwards, occasionally taking my eyelid with it. All the while, instructional eyebrow girl shows the exact way to hold your tiny scissors, as I lower my airplane sized pair closer to my face. She makes quick concise cuts as I take my eyes away from the screen in order to watch the destruction I’m about to inflict on my face.
I snip a large chunk off of one brow. It looks reasonably good!
So THAT’S how people make them smaller… Ooohh.
Excited I look down at the clock, only 8 minutes left before I should leave. Panicked I start trimming a little too much. Suddenly I look in the mirror; my left eyebrow has a large gap in it while my right one looks like a caterpillar run over with a lawn mower. I start to panic even more, the caffeine coursing through my veins, blood pounding in my ears as I go red and blotchy with embarrassment and anger.
Umm, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR FACE!?!?!
Silently I hear the voice of one of my class clowns saying “Miss Katie your eyebrows are jacked UP!”
I scramble, the eyebrow lady is just touching on the subject of how to cover up any mistake with eyeliner. I grab my set of pencils that were mainly used for shows and old age makeup and go to town. 5 minutes left. My right eyebrow looks like Charlie Chaplin’s stunted mustache as my left lazily stretches out perfectly across my brow. I freak and try to correct only making the right one larger and. I start back peddling by trying to make the left one match. Now I have 70 year old man-brows darker than asphalt. 3 minutes until I need to leave…
In order to start over I furiously wash my face making it bright as a cherry; which becomes neon in comparison to the suddenly very pale patches in my eyebrows.
I should cancel my audition, I think to myself.
Oh stop it just take a deep breath, and try again. You look funny but you can still act.
Ugh, fine.
So I take a deep breath acknowledge I may be a tad late for the YMCA and continue to fill in the blanks on my face. Slowly but surely my eyebrows suddenly resemble… well, eyebrows! I look at them from side to side, they seem alright. I pack my things quickly noting all of the papers and clothes I’ll need to take to my audition.
I rush out the door in a flurry and make it to the YMCA only 5 minutes passed my usual time. As I sit in the office my co-worker, and the local office teaser, talks to me while glancing every now and then above my eyes. She says nothing about them. I breathe.
Just don’t rub your forehead.
~Goof
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Perseverance
“It all started when I accidentally gave him the finger”
Day jobs.
If there’s one thing about the actor’s life I still haven’t meshed with it’s giving up my day jobs. I know it’s ruining my availability to audition but not having one also destroys my ability of having enough money for rent.
In the late afternoon my second job has me monitoring several preadolescents. With that comes many hilarious quotes.
“It’s called Sharks and Meadows, duh!”
Seeing these mistakes on a daily basis only leads to me believe that my position as a young actress is very similar. In a recent letter to a dear friend I wrote that post graduation is like becoming a freshman all over again. Only this time you’re a freshman in life. You’re awkward, you’re lost, and for the first time you are truly on your own.
“I hope we end this war with the Vietnamese”
“You mean the Iraqis?”
“Same thing”
Trying to explain agents and casting directors to my parents amounts to little more than the discussions my preteens have. I have no clue what I’m saying and even as I’m pretending to know what this business is all about I find myself explaining only what I’ve heard other people saying.
“They asked me to spell IHOP. I. H. O. P. I don’t get it?”
“Do you mean ICUP?”
“Maybe…”
A friend of mine who works in the business gave me a gem once, “Never trust ‘what they say’” This meaning that people talk all the time but until you experience it you never truly know what’s going on.
So on I trek through all the muck and mire trying to figure out what it is that will get me into a real audition. But I can’t help but feel everyone is trying to prey off of my youthful innocence. Audition after audition all I hear is how I need to pay for participation. I had a notice for an audition sent to me about a stand up gig. I was excited to get working on the new project when suddenly I started reading the fine print. Ah I see.
“There are monthly dues required to be apart of this program”
Great. The last thing I need to be doing is paying someone else to get me onstage.
“Miss Katie if you were a warrior cat what would your name be?”
“Wha-...uh…Shining Phoenix”
The only solution I can think of is to commit. Fully commit. Throw myself out there into the thick of comedy clubs, auditions, and talent shows. Maybe I’ll get back into background work. I really don’t know. And I have no clue if I’m going to regret it in the end. But I guess the whole point is to keep trying and grow beyond paying dues physically and financially.
~Goof
Day jobs.
If there’s one thing about the actor’s life I still haven’t meshed with it’s giving up my day jobs. I know it’s ruining my availability to audition but not having one also destroys my ability of having enough money for rent.
In the late afternoon my second job has me monitoring several preadolescents. With that comes many hilarious quotes.
“It’s called Sharks and Meadows, duh!”
Seeing these mistakes on a daily basis only leads to me believe that my position as a young actress is very similar. In a recent letter to a dear friend I wrote that post graduation is like becoming a freshman all over again. Only this time you’re a freshman in life. You’re awkward, you’re lost, and for the first time you are truly on your own.
“I hope we end this war with the Vietnamese”
“You mean the Iraqis?”
“Same thing”
Trying to explain agents and casting directors to my parents amounts to little more than the discussions my preteens have. I have no clue what I’m saying and even as I’m pretending to know what this business is all about I find myself explaining only what I’ve heard other people saying.
“They asked me to spell IHOP. I. H. O. P. I don’t get it?”
“Do you mean ICUP?”
“Maybe…”
A friend of mine who works in the business gave me a gem once, “Never trust ‘what they say’” This meaning that people talk all the time but until you experience it you never truly know what’s going on.
So on I trek through all the muck and mire trying to figure out what it is that will get me into a real audition. But I can’t help but feel everyone is trying to prey off of my youthful innocence. Audition after audition all I hear is how I need to pay for participation. I had a notice for an audition sent to me about a stand up gig. I was excited to get working on the new project when suddenly I started reading the fine print. Ah I see.
“There are monthly dues required to be apart of this program”
Great. The last thing I need to be doing is paying someone else to get me onstage.
“Miss Katie if you were a warrior cat what would your name be?”
“Wha-...uh…Shining Phoenix”
The only solution I can think of is to commit. Fully commit. Throw myself out there into the thick of comedy clubs, auditions, and talent shows. Maybe I’ll get back into background work. I really don’t know. And I have no clue if I’m going to regret it in the end. But I guess the whole point is to keep trying and grow beyond paying dues physically and financially.
~Goof
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